


Inviting Darkness

by FadedSepia



Series: Chasing Stars [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Bucky goes to space, Interspecies Mourning, M/M, Not sure where it's going, Post-snap, Rocket is a good bro, Sad Space Raccoons, Space Sib From Another Crib
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/pseuds/FadedSepia
Summary: The dust has settled. The last of the old headquarters has been salvaged or scrapped,  Wilson is good enough at catching that he doesn’t need James around to act as a spare arm for the shield, he’d needed somewhere else to go.For a time, he slides into the space Ronin left behind when Clint went back to being Hawkeye, staying deep enough in the tumult caused by the return of four billion people that he doesn't have time to think. He's still in it, still going, but not really headed anywhere.And then Carol comes calling…Sequel toFilling the Void.





	1. Turn Me Loose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceluna/gifts).



> Big thanks to elenorasweet and spaceluna for encouraging and prodding and nudging me. Love to you both!

He had just been waking up, wanting to stretch without disturbing the man in his arms, when it had started, his feet losing feeling, then substance. James had pressed his face more firmly against the back of Peter’s neck, trying to keep himself calm, even as the other man startled awake with a yell. “Jamie?!”

“Yeah…” The urge to cling, to hold on to whatever he could saw him pulling Quill in closer, clutching the man’s remaining hand in his own. “… me, too, Pete.”

“When?”

“Just now.” He was shaking, trembling like he had every time they’d brought him back. Was that where they were going? Was there a back to go to at all? James tried to press a kiss to the back of the other man’s neck, panic rising. It was up past his legs, creeping numbness and nothing along his spine, but he would hold out as long as he could. “Just woke up.”

“James… I don’t… I don’t know where we’re even-”

Pete cut out abruptly, and James could see through to the blank hollow where the other man’s jaw had been. He kept speaking, whispering words against his ear even as Quill dissolved away in his embrace.

“I don’t either, but I’ll find you. Wherever it is, I’ll find you, Pete.” The last thing James saw was the edge of a red leather cuff, the hand grasped in his own drifting away as both swiftly crumbled to dust, and then he was gone.

☆•☆•☆

James Barnes blinked awake, staring up at the only just familiar ceiling of Steve’s guest room. Years of practice were all that saved him from a metal smack to the nose as he ran his hand across his face, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Of course, he would have _that_ dream this morning.

He didn’t have to get up just yet; what little he had was already packed, and Carol wouldn’t be arriving for a few hours. The soft sounds from the kitchen told him that, even at his age, Steve was already up and knocking around the place, so coffee would be made, at least. He wondered if he’d miss coffee tomorrow, once it was just one more thing that wasn’t in his life anymore. One more thing left behind, given up, or lost.

James had lost... a lot. Not quite permanently, but only for the time being. Steve was _alive,_ but... he'd lived that life. _His_ life. Without him. James had known he'd be taking a backseat to Peggy – he'd encouraged it, told Steve to take the shot, if he could make it work – but it was still hard. So fucking hard.

Waking up in their god-damned house wasn’t exactly helping the situation. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, headed for the bathroom. James didn’t know how long the trip would take, but he probably ought to at least shave and get cleaned up for it.

☆•☆•☆ _The Year Previous_ ☆•☆•☆

They were back at Pepper and- back at Pepper’s, car tires crunching over the gravel as Steve headed for the far end of the property. Steve had that look, again, and James could tell he was going to keep being stubborn. “Don't pull me out, Rogers.”

“Buck, if I can-”

“Stevie.” He settled a hand on his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head. “You may not be a putz, anymore, but if you try ta fix everything, you’re gonna break it all. Trust me; who was the guy that dragged you off to that science fair in the first place?”

“Yeah, but-” Rogers tightened his hands on the wheel, knuckles paling.

James interrupted him, again. “I’m fine here. You put the time in, you got me out. I don't want you seein’ me like that, again. That me wouldn't be... I wouldn't be _this_ me.”

“I don’t think I could have stood you if you went in and saved me a second time right then.” He crossed his arms, focused on the treeline. “The old me woulda resented you forever, Stevie... and this me couldn’t stand myself if you had to go through all of my bullshit twice.”

Steve said nothing, jaw clenching briefly, gaze never leaving the roadway. He changed the subject. “I might not make it back here, Buck.”

“Yeah, just don’t be too late.” There were no guarantees on this trip. Banner was running the machinery, but the man who’d done the hard work was dead. If this screwed up, if Steve didn’t get where he needed to be, there just might not be anything they could do about it this time.

“Anything you need, I'll leave it at the old place.”

“I'll find it, get it to Wilson.” Barnes nodded. “If you’re late.”

“Really?” Steve cut his eyes sideways, head tilted quizzically.

“Yeah.” That had been a roundabout of points and counterpoints for the past few days; settled, but only just. “You know it’s the best option.”

“ _One of_ the best.”

James cuffed Steve in the arm as the other man killed the engine. “Shut up. We’ve still gotta walk out to the lake.”

☆•☆•☆ _Recently_ ☆•☆•☆

Things weren’t bad; he’d no need to remind himself of that. Stevie was different, mellowed – it hardly surprised him that it had taken another seven odd decades to mellow out Steven Grant Rogers; truthfully, he hadn’t though it would happen – but Steve was still here. 

Steve had been supervising, at least for the first few months, as Sam got the hang of not throwing his shoulder out. His time as a pilot and in the air as Falcon meant he’d already gotten his brain around the angles, had a handle on the trajectory and the ricochet of using the shield. The guy just needed to not let the damn thing send him sailing was all. For a time, James was grateful to have something to do; something that let him ground himself in the now, after so long away in the… the nothingness.

But once the last of the old headquarters had been salvaged or scrapped, once Wilson was good enough at catching that he didn’t need James around to act as a spare arm for the shield, he’d needed somewhere else to go.

Wanting it to be away, he’d trucked out to the middle of nowhere, and made himself useful at the Barton’s. Clint and Laura were good people; well, Laura was good people, and Clint wasn’t any worse than James was, himself.

After five years, everything had needed patching or mending or just general cleaning – Clint saying he'd left and never really planned to get back with the finality that let him know the man had already planned his death out there in the field – and James was happy to stick around and help with the labour. The repair of the Barton farm needed to be finished, then the Smythes’, and the Montgomery place, and if anybody who had been lost in the void hadn’t had the years to forget the last time they’d seen him on the news, well, they didn’t talk about it when he was patching up the their roofs and walls, even if Clint’s corny-ass _Barnes on a Barn_ jokes started getting old a week into his stay.

Still, the man was easy to talk to. Or not, especially about the time after the void – the team called it the snap, and the press called it the decimation, and he really didn’t think he could put a name on the whole thing – and Barton didn’t push. Clint did most of the talking, anyway, after Laura had left them both on the porch, and they were sure the kids were out.

Barton had been busy, lost in the job for a long time, and it was almost comforting to hear that hopelessness in someone else’s voice. They spent too many nights like that, talking trajectory, methods, ammunition loads; sharing stories about Natalia or Natasha or Nat. Quietly basking in each other’s disgusting inhumanity, knowing they could do so without judgement.

When he’d run himself out of work there, James had been left trying to find somewhere else – _anywhere else_ – where he could go and actually be of use. In the end, he’d wound up on call for the new thing coalescing out of what was left of SHIELD and the Avengers, despite his reservations. He didn’t go back to New York full-time – so many memories were there now, only some of them good, far too many of them tinged maudlin at the edges to go back any more than necessary – but wherever Fury or Wilson or Barton needed him to be.

For a time, he slid into the space Ronin had left behind when Clint went back to being Hawkeye, staying deep enough in the tumult caused by the return of four billion people that he didn't have time to think. He was still in it, still going, but not really headed anywhere.

☆•☆•☆ _Two Days Ago_ ☆•☆•☆

It was Carol who, on one of her rare visits, eventually threw him the line for which he'd desperately hoped. James hadn’t even planned to _be_ Upstate, but he’d just finished debriefing and run into her, almost literally, as she and Fury had been coming around the corner. She'd pulled him aside afterward, and he’d felt something very close to grateful relief when she finally told him why.

“Quill asked if anyone could spare some time; Thor thinks he might have found his brother, and dragged half that crew along with him. You wanna come with, Barnes?”

His younger self would have leapt at the chance; space exploration had still been the stuff of pictures and comic pages for most of his life, at least he parts he’d been conscious for. Before, though, even if he might have said yes, he’d have been looking to the man at his side, gauging his reaction before giving his assent. Now, though?

“Sure. Gimmie forty-eight to get everything settled.”

☆•☆•☆ _At Present_ ☆•☆•☆ 

There was a cup of coffee – cut with chicory, two sugars, no milk – waiting on the counter when he came down. No point in even considering a quick exit then.

He and Steve had talked about it in the abstract, sure, but there hadn’t been any discussion of a set date. It had all seemed too fast, too soon, to bring up goodbyes, even if he had already said yes. And, despite being the textbook definition of _pain in the ass_ since the day they’d met, Stevie was his best friend; James didn’t want to set him worrying.

He palmed his phone, tapping out a quick message to change the pickup point, before taking his coffee and stepping out through the back door. “Stevie? I'm... I'm gonna be goin’ soon.”

It was still a head trip, all this, but he could handle it. Even if seeing Steve – greyed, wrapped in an afghan, reading on the porch swing with coffee by his feet – threw James's brain lurching, at least it shuddered to somewhere pleasant. He dropped his rucksack onto the wood decking, hands slipping into his pockets with the familiarity of long habit. “Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone?”

“Took all the stupid with me last time, right, Buck?” Rogers set his book aside, shrugging like always, smile as falsely humble and sheepish as ever, eyes still shining with that same _fuck your rules_ glint they’d always had. “Think I used it up before I got here.”

“See ya when I get back?” James settled at the other end of the swing, looking out over the back yard, still hazy in the pre-dawn light. They would have _killed_ for this much room for themselves as kids; the infinity of space wasn’t something he’d have ever thought might be within reach. Still easier to think about what he was ahead of him, though. He already knew what he was leaving.

Steve nodded in his periphery. “I'll do my best.”

“You always do.”

“Yeah, well...” Steve’s hand settled on his shoulder as the man spoke. “Buck. C’mere.”

There was still such a persistent strength in those arms - thinner now, reminding him more of the old Steve, which was poignantly funny - and they pulled him down into a hug. “Mighta saved just a little stupid for you to take along.”

“Keep it, punk. I don't need any more.” James wouldn’t dwell on how this might be their _last_ goodbye, too focused on wanting it their _best._ He squeezed back, face pressed into Steve’s shoulder, trying to ignore the warm, thick pressure suffusing his face. This was one goodbye they had both had a choice in; one he hadn’t even been sure he’d get once he knew Steve was going to stay with Peggy and take the long way back.

☆•☆•☆

They'd sat out there, watching the sky lighten into full day, until Danvers had rolled up, the roar of the engine announcing her long before she’d walked around the house. She didn’t bother coming up onto the porch, nodding to them each in turn. “Sergeant Barnes. Captain Rogers.”

“Captain Danvers.”

Steve’s voice lilted just enough that James had nudge his friend with his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you both outrank me. It’s a laugh riot.”

Danvers shrugged in his direction, nodding to Steve. “Said your goodbyes?”

James took the cue for what it was, pushing up from the swing, bag quickly slung over his shoulder. Steve stood beside him; a last one-armed squeeze, and he was down the stairs and crossing to where Carol stood. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Right. Let's go.”


	2. I’m Already Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to [TheShorty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShorty/pseuds/TheShorty) and [weepingnaiad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad) for letting me borrow their fabulous editing eyes!

☆•☆•☆

Peter had only met Carol Danvers after he got… _back_ , but Rocket and Thor vouched for her, and so he’d begrudgingly extended an invitation to let her visit once in a while after they were underway. He had been unprepared for her immediate knee-capping of his self-esteem. _“You are far too much of an idiot to be left out here unsupervised.”_

He’d been even less ready for her to summarily adopt him as a de facto not-quite-human younger sib from another crib; a situation made doubly weird by her looking a good five years his junior, and which she found absolutely hilarious. At least, maybe hilarious. _Carol_ -hilarious. She’d smirked and squinched her eyes up, then smacked him in the arm. Rocket later informed Peter that was the Carol version of a full body laugh. He could understand why she got along with Drax.

Carol had dropped in a few times since, never staying too long, never failing to goad himself, Rocket, or Thor into something completely ridiculous. Though, at least she left the rest of the crew in generally better spirits; and as a matter of course, with a surplus of bruised pride and embarrassing stories. Peter had, despite his reservations – and her obnoxious habit of trying to startle him by tapping on the view ports – found himself trusting Carol. Sometimes drunkenly, as one of the few beings regularly on his ship that could offer a real conversation that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

Rocket was good for a talk, if he would take half a minute to stop trailing Groot, but Peter hadn’t wanted to go pushing that, and Mantis and Drax were completely out of the question. Thor had settled – at least until he’d teamed up with the tautology twins and run off after a dead man – but they still got on each other’s nerves more often than not. So, when Carol had zipped by, quite literally, as they were on their way out of a recently restored Xandarian outpost, Peter had mentioned being short-handed.

The blonde had nodded, head tilted and mouth quirked on just the one side, _“Headed Earth-way for the memorial service, but I might know a guy…”_ before she was out the access hatch with her usual light show. Between Asgardians and a few lunatic Terrans – _humans_ , they were human, like him – Peter was sure there would be someone willing to come out this way, if only for a short while. Good help was hard to come by; an untrained Terran might work out for the time being, even if they were as startled as Peter had been when he’d first left Earth.

Although… thinking too long on Earth brought up memories. Peter hadn’t thought his first trip home would be to a battlefield in the middle of an onslaught. He'd never even _been_ to New York, let alone been _shot_ there. But, in the frenzy of the fight, after following the wizard through a magic portal – because _that_ was just the freaking icing on the fucked-up cake – he’d finally found the rest of his crew.

He never _had_ made it back to Missouri. Another trip, maybe. If he bothered going back to Earth at all; there wasn’t really much of anything he needed there. Peter had gotten a new crop of songs for that thing Thor had foisted on him to replace his Zune, a portable turntable and some old vinyls, and three pairs of all-star sneakers to knock around the ship and save his boots. There had been parting gifts, mostly thanks to Rocket, and an assortment of beers of Norway, also from Thor, offered as a host gift for tagging along; but there hadn’t been much Peter actually needed, let alone wanted.

Nor anyone he particularly wanted to see, anymore. They’d stayed months; it had been more than enough time to move on. Rocket had glad-handed with a more sedate cockiness than he’d ever shown as their meagre crew bustled to gather their things and get off planet. Still, even in parting, there had been too many names to recall, the human faces blurring together a bit without any bright pops of colour or extra appendages to tell one from the other. Peter had seen more humans in those months that he’d seen in decades. He’d even briefly, for just a moment, seen Jamie, but... Peter Quill knew there were some things you didn’t interrupt.

Peter had heard enough about _Stevie_ during his and Jamie’s… _time_ together to recognize him on sight; even beat to shit in the middle of a laser fight, a guy like that was hard to miss. During the brief time he’d been there to witness, it had been all too obvious to Peter that any discussion about whatever they had _had_ wasn’t going to end well. With the way Jamie had hovered by Stevie’s shoulder, or caught his eye across the room every few moments – and, given how much time had passed since then – Peter knew there wasn’t any point to conversation. It had been better, for him and his crew, to pack up and take off. Better for him to leave and not look back.

Forgetting had been easy on Earth, or when the ship had been full. Inhabited planets always skirted the edge of overwhelming, and Earth was worse than most; just familiar enough to keep Peter on the line between misery and awe. At first, the ship had been – if not as all consumingly distracting – at least annoying enough to keep Peter’s mind busy. With six of them onboard and barely an inch to himself outside of the cramped space of his bunk, it was hard to remember that he was alone. That had all gone to shit once Thor had taken the landing ship craft, somehow cramming Drax and Mantis in with him before he bolted.

Peter hadn’t always _liked_ Thor – the guy got on his last nerve every fucking chance he had – but he had been someone to talk to. Better conversation than Drax and Mantis, lost in their own hyper-literal giggle-fests half the damn time. Thor was almost better than Rocket, given how Rocket still hovered around Groot like their resident _tree_ nager was going to poof away any second. The Asgardian had been a source of conversation, Mantis had been at least mildly amusing, and even Drax had made noise and spoken once in a while. The ship was too quiet without them. Now, if Peter was outside his quarters, it was Rocket beside him at the helm and Groot playing games or dozing behind them. That was assuming either of them was around at all. If Peter was in his quarters, there was nothing but the thrum of the engines when he closed his eyes; no arguments, no bad singing, not even the ripsaw snores that had been a pain in his ass every sleep cycle before… _then_.

Peter could handle it, but knew it was why he hadn’t been sleeping so well, even beyond the stress of trying to find and keep work with half his crew flouncing off to who-the-fuck knew where. Sleep came slowly in the silence. It wasn’t the quiet of what they’d all come to call _the Void_ ; there _was_ still plenty of sound aboard the ship, but not enough for Peter. The constant hiss and hum of the systems that kept them alive and moving were little more than persistent white noise, like a ringing in his ear. It wasn’t what he needed, not anymore. Peter had come to expect muffled breath against his neck, someone small but solid pressed in against his back, an arm clasped around his waist, a bulwark against the nothing around him.

He had tried making his own noise, filling the echoing emptiness like he had before – like he had for years – since he first left Earth. Sleeping in earbuds hurt, and his replacement full headphones were too big unless Peter was sitting up in the cockpit. Singing to himself only helped when he was walking around or working; Peter couldn’t exactly hum _himself_ to sleep, nor keep himself from waking up reaching back for someone else once he did. The persistent hassle of it all, that was the worst part. Peter hadn’t relied on anyone except his crew once his sneakers first left the ground. Didn’t need to do it now, either.

Peter stared up at the low bulkhead over his bunk, then rolled onto his stomach. Carol would return with someone, and he’d be busy breaking in the freshie soon. It would be enough; it had to be.

☆•☆•☆ _Four Months Later_ ☆•☆•☆

For once, Carol actually used a comm line like the rest of them, her voice coming in over the speakers just as a hollow knocking echoed forward from the storage bay. _“Open up.”_

Rocket chuckled, opening the line to respond. “What’s the password?”

“ _I brought your captain a present?”_ A _clank_ sounded, beneath the hull, and Carol zipped around to the nose of the ship, smirking in at the small crew clustered in the cockpit. _“Also, I have laser hands, so I could just shoot my way in.”_

Peter pushed himself out of his chair, tapping his mask around his face as he ambled back to seal and open the rear bay. “No need for that, Captain Danvers; we’ve still got a few doors that work.”

“ _I appreciate that, Captain Quill.”_

☆•☆

Carol hadn’t been accompanied by any sort of ship, which left Peter wondering just how _small_ the recruit she’d picked up was. The tube she had lowered onto the decking was just past two meters long, and not even half as wide. It looked too much like a missile – or a _coffin_ – for Peter’s comfort, but it was here now, and Danvers wasn’t completely insane; whatever new crew she’d have brought would at least be alive.

He didn’t have too long to worry about it as Carol hooked her arm around his neck, pulling him down in a gentle – for _her_ , anyway – headlock. “How’s my favourite idiot?”

“Well… okay, I guess, since I’m your favourite.” Peter ducked from under her arm and shoved her away. Carol caught the collar of his coat, tugging him back, forcing him to twist away in the other direction. It was play-fighting, mostly, and fun enough that Peter kept it up a little longer, until he almost tripped over the odd gift she’d brought in with her. “What’s with the tube?”

“This is your new crew member.” Carol nudged the tube with her foot. It rolled over, revealing a latch and a hand scanner. She pressed her palm below the lock, tapping a few numbers and taking off her glove to let it scan her palm. A section near one end of the tube hinged upward, just enough to vent a cool fog into the room. The tube rocked, and a hand – a human looking one, at that – lifted the lid-like door a bit higher. “Sergeant? You alright in there?”

“How long?” answered a sleep roughened voice from inside the container.

“Eleven weeks.”

“Ah… Been a while since I was under.” As the lid lifted higher, the man’s other hand, black burnished metal with gold scrollwork, clasped the side of the container. “Sorry, Carol.”

“Not a problem, Sergeant Barnes.”

Peter watched as James Barnes pushed himself to sit up inside the tube, scrubbing his hand up against his eyes as he yawned. He pinched himself through the red leather pocket of his coat. He’d hoped Carol would pick up some random Asgardian. Or maybe a disaffected Kree. Another Luphomoid. Honestly, he’d have almost settled for some random human shmuck; really, as long as they knew what they were getting into, Peter wouldn’t have cared _who_ it was, if it had been _anyone_ except Jamie. Yeah, he was tough, and a good shot, from what little Peter remembered, but… _Fuck._ Peter realized he’d been staring, not having noticed the other two members of his crew wander back to join them.

Groot was looking between Peter and the man still muzzily looking around from inside the tube, mouth pressed and eyes squinched in thought, but Rocket seemed genuinely excited to see Barnes. He scampered over, almost dropping onto all fours in his haste to get to the side of the tube, reaching a paw to yank at James’ hand. “Eey! Arm-guy! Never thought I’d see your mug all the way out here. How’s it goin’?”

“It’s, uh…” James shrugged, standing with a wobble. He held onto the sides of the container as he stepped out, shaking off his sleep, and a few flecks of ice that clung persistently in his hair. “‘s alright.”

“Ya kiddin’? It’s fuckin’ great!” Rocket patted James’ hip, laughing as he walked toward where Carol and Peter stood, thumbing back over his shoulder. “Quill, you’re not gonna believe it, when I tell you how I met this guy-”

“I’ve heard, Rocket.” Peter crossed his arms, tipping his chin in the slightest nod as Barnes’ eyes met his. “James.”

“Peter.”

The crowd in the storage bay lapsed into silence. Peter kept staring down James, catching Carol’s bemused glare out of the corner of his eye; he wasn’t going to say anything else, not to her, and certainly not to _him_. Of all people, Carol should have known better than to bring this man onto Peter’s ship.

Head swivelling as he looked back and forth, Rocket huffed, throwing his hands into the air after a moment. The shortest member of the crew pointed, first to himself, then to those around him. “Yeah; Rocket, James, Peter, Carol, Groot.” He scooted himself up to sit on the foot end of James’ container, little legs kicking, words terse. “See, I know _all_ the names. Even knew my own without nobody havin’ to say it.”

Peter ignored him, turning to the woman at his left. “Carol?”

“Sergeant Barnes was looking to get some travelling under his belt, so he volunteered to come along to lend a hand. Or two.” She met him with a sideways smirk, shrugging into one shoulder. Carol nodded to James, but kept her tone flippant, speaking about him almost as if he wasn’t there at all. “And since he already knew half of you – counting Odinson’s half, of course – it made the most sense.”

“Right.” She _would_ say that. There was a tug at his cuff; Groot was standing beside him, head tilted and wide-eyed.

“I am Groot?”

“Long story, buddy.” Peter untangled Groot’s wooden fingers from his sleeve. “Show him where he’ll be bunking down?”

Groot rolled his eyes and stomped one rooted foot. “I _am_ Groot.”

“No, you don’t have better things to do, and we both know it.” Hand on the _tree_ nager’s shoulder, Peter shoved him gently toward the man still standing awkwardly in the middle of the storage bay. “Mantis’ will be fine for now.”

James took the hint better than Groot. He keyed open a second door on his transport, pulling out a rucksack and heaving it up onto his shoulder, then grabbing what looked to Peter like an instrument case.

“What’s the rush? We got time.” Rocket’s quip was too jovial; the little jackass just refused to read the room. “Oughtta celebrate finally gettin’ someone that’ll pull his weight around here, right, Peter?”

“Maybe another time. I know Captain Danvers is still pretty busy, and we need to talk before she leaves.”

“Aw, c’mon. Can’t be that much of a rush, and it won’t take too long to get the guy settled in.”

“Sorry, Rocket.” Of course, Peter knew he was being a jackass, too, but he needed Barnes out of his space. _Now_ , and without too many questions. The fastest way to do that was to kick him out, along with the rest of the crew. “Captains’ meeting. See the _Sergeant_ to his bunk.”

“Yeah… whatever, _Captain_.” Rocket stomped past him, tiny fist punching into Peter’s knee as he huffed back toward the hatch, Groot following close behind.

James was still standing next to his pod, though he was looking out the port to his left, a vacant smile on his face.

Peter coughed into his hand. “So… you gonna follow Rocket? ‘Cause Captain Danvers and I need to talk.”

Barnes nodded, hefting his case, but still glancing back toward the viewport, even as he reached the hatchway. “It’s beautiful.”

“Eh.” Watching James in profile, Peter was tempted to agree. “You get used to it.”

“I hope not.” Barnes chuckled, turning that lonely smile at him full force as he spoke to the woman next to him. “Thanks for the lift, Carol. I’ll just…” His eyes flicked away – to the door, then Peter’s face, and back to Carol – and James sighed as he headed for the door. “Yeah. Fly safe.”

“See ya, Barnes.” Carol waved at him, and Peter hastened behind to close the hatch, not missing the last glare he got from the racoon in the hallway as it locked.

Peter might have been closing it in Rocket’s face, but that wasn’t the person he was staring at as he did. He watched them go, eyes on the hatch long after it sealed, until he could see all three of the others round the corner and step out of sight. Peter flopped back onto a shipping crate, forehead in his hand. “So? You’re _Carol_ now?”

Danvers dragged over the metal pod, heedless of the wrenching shriek it made against the floor, and sat across from him. She snipped back, chastising. “Well I thought _you_ were Pete?”

“Yeah, I _was_ Pete.” He scuffed his boot against the floor, eyes drifting up to Carol’s face. She wasn’t the least bit sorry or self-conscious about what she’d done, and, had she been anyone else, Peter would have yelled at her for being a bitch. As it was, he was still pissed, but he liked himself as he was; skull intact, not on fire, and not in a vacuum. Carol had a _weird_ sense of humour, after all. “Looks like Barnes wised up about that one. Smarter than _some_ people seem to be today.”

“Peter…” Carol leaned forward, flicking his knee with one finger and making him flinch away.

“Why do you keep giving me that voice?”

“Maybe because I’m twenty years older than you are?” She rolled her seat closer, so that she was almost sitting beside him. “And about fifteen years more mature?” Carol tilted her head to look at him upside down, eyes crossing and sticking out her tongue.

Peter shoved hard at her shoulder, sending her rocking over the back of the tube and onto the floor. “Maybe two years.”

Laughing as she stood, Carol kicked the crate right out from under his ass, snorting as he landed on his back. Still, she extended a hand, hauling him up off the floor. “Oh, no way. Ten years, easily.”

“Five.” Peter poked her in the shoulder.

“Eight.” Carol reached up to flick his ear.

Jutting his lower lip out, Peter licked the end of his finger, lunging at Carol. She dodged, half floating out of reach, but he ran, eventually swiping the edge of her ear with a mean little laugh. “Six-and-a-half!”

“You’re disgusting.” Carol cuffed him in the elbow, but she was still grinning as she sat back on the metal tube. She patted the space beside her, leaning into Peter’s shoulder once he sat down. “Fine. But that still makes me the only one of us acting like a mature legal adult, since you are acting like a twelve-year-old.”

“Oh, what, because I don’t want one particular jerk on my ship?” He gave voice to the thought that had been bouncing through his mind since James’ hand first clutched the side of his tube. “Every person in the galaxy, and you picked him?”

“Considering it _is_ him, I thought you’d be happier.”

“Really, Carol? That’s what you're going with?”

Carol leaned back onto her arms with a sigh, eyes lifting to the ceiling. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have said anything if you didn’t want me to act on it.”

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t been kinda-” Peter seesawed his hand in the air. “- _ya know_ when I lost that bet.”

“So now you know not to make bets that you’re going to lose. Especially not drunken ones.”

If there was any higher power in the universe, it was bent on surrounding Peter with people who thought they knew what was best for him. And who were usually dangerous, crazy, and more than a little sadistic. Just once, he would have liked to have at least one… normal-ish person in his life? Granted, Carol was the only person he’d count as a friend who hadn’t tried to kill him; not only recently, but not ever. That didn’t make her any less crazy, though. Peter pressed his lip out and closed his eyes. “What is _wrong_ with you that you thought _he_ was a good idea.”

“Absolutely nothing.” Carol smiled, but sugar wouldn’t have melted in her mouth. Peter knew he had overstepped by her tone, but she still patted his leg before she stood up. “Look, just don’t be an idiot about this. I mean, in as much as you can help it.”

“I really don’t want him on my ship, Carol.”

“I’m glad that you’re articulating your wants and needs like a big boy, Peter, but I’m going now.” She reached down, yanking him to standing. Carol pulled him into a brief, sideways hug, then patted his back as she walked toward the airlock at the rear of the room. “If you want him gone, you’ll just have to drop him back off yourself.”

“It’d be better for him if you just took him straight back.” Peter checked the seals on his gloves, then tapped his cheek, and the world tinted red behind his lenses. He brushed past Carol, pulling the release key out and twisting it back to the unlocked position. “I mean it, Danvers. I won’t space him, but I might dump him once we hit a port.”

“Whatever you think is best, _Pete_.”

Peter punched his hand against the release button, opening the doors just wide enough to let Carol slip back into the vacuum. She hovered, faintly glowing on the other side of the tiny viewing window, until he finally conceded and waved to her. Peter watched as she flipped him a mocking salute, then shot out into the black. He leaned against the door, still staring long after she’d shrunk to a tiny glowing speck and disappeared among the background of stars, wishing those old movie taglines had been right. Of course, there was little hope of that; space or not, their comms were too good, and someone was bound to hear him screaming, even if he was floating outside the ship.

☆•☆•☆


	3. Don’t Carry Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quickie: I went with _cycle_ instead of _day_ for measuring time in space. I’m certain there is a specific measurement of _“day length time”_ for space-faring in the Marvel fandom, but I still have _doboshes_ and _quintets_ on the brain, so I went with something simple. Thank you for understanding, dear reader! (And props up top for getting the non-Marvel fandom reference.)

**☆•☆•☆**

“Well, since _some_ of us understand hospitality around here, why don’t I give ya a tour?” Rocket sneered back at the door as they rounded the corner, tiny paws crossing over his chest.

“Thanks, Rocket, and…” James trailed along after the raccoon and… “Groot?”

The tree with a face side-eyed him, so he had to assume that was right.

The ship was more spacious than he’d expected, and James was glad to walk around a while after having been in storage. It would still be some time before he was warmed up, though. Maybe they could show him the shower. If they had those on the ship. _Crap_. What if they didn’t? “Where’s the head?”

“On your shoulders, I hope, Bucket.”

James would let that slide for now, but still wanted to roll his eyes. “I mean, the wash-room? Or whatever the place you go to _relieve_ yourself is.”

“You coulda just said ya hadta take a shit, new guy.” Rocket chuckled, hooking a right and walking toward what James thought was the front of the ship.

Unless he’d gotten turned around, the main hallway ran from the cockpit back to the aft dock where he’d come on board, but with odd twists along the length of the corridor. From a tactical perspective, it was ideal; the blind corners and alcoves would make for easily defensible nooks. From a directional standpoint – though – James wasn’t quite sure how, but it felt as if they’d just made five left turns but were still heading in the same direction.

Ahead of him, Rocket stepped up over the lip of a hatch, turning as he spoke “This way, watch your head- Oh, huh, guess you don’t gotta worry about it. Quill runs into that on the regular.”

“I’d imagine.” Pete wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on right now. When Carol had asked him to come out here, James had been under the impression that his presence had been _wanted,_ or would at least be accepted. Then he’d woken up to Pete staring at him like a pile of thawed out shit. Which – yes – was how James tended to feel when he came to, but wasn’t the sort of reaction he wanted to _evoke_.

“Facilities are that way.” Rocket pointed at a door as they paused. “We usually just eat sittin’ in the forward compartment behind the cockpit, but-” The raccoon turned to the door opposite the washroom. “-that right there is the kitchen. Got that?”

“Head.” James nodded to the left, “and galley,” and then to the right.

“Uh… sure, call ‘em whatever you want. Just don’t let me catch you pissin’ in the soup.”

“I am Gr _oot?”_ The tree creature bent between them, smiling down at Rocket.

“No, it’s not a mammal thing; it was one time. _One damn time.”_ Rocket turned another of the small dog-leg corners, and they entered a relatively straight, port-less stretch of hallway. He tapped a paw on the doors as they passed them. “This one’s mine; closest to the cargo bay.” Rocket pinged the next one. “Groot’s. He’s at that age – completely disgusting – so don’t even look inside.”

“ _I_ am Groot.” Groot reached a vine around James to flick the back of Rocket’s pointed ear. Rocket bit it, and Groot reeled the tendril back in with a grumble.

“No, _you’re_ disgusting, and you keep vinin’ the place up. Bucket don’t need to see that.”

They passed another door before Rocket reached over his head to smack his tiny palm on the access panel. The door slid to the side with a soft _woosh_ , revealing an immaculate room in softly muted colours. It reminded James of a spa… or a medical bay.

Rocket waved a paw into the empty room. “This here is Mantis’ bunk, but she’s off doing… _whatever,_ so we can put you in here.”

“I a _m_ Groot?” The tree-kid peered around his side at the empty room.

“I dunno. Guess we’ll just put her in with Drax if they don’t die or nothin?’” Rocket huffed, head tilting to the floor for a moment.

James wondered if he was aware of the way his tail and ears were drooping, or if it was reflexive.

“Either way, Quill said new guy goes here.” With another sigh, the little first officer turned back to face him, thumbing over his shoulder as he looked up at James. “So – anyway – this is your space for now, yeah?”

“Is there anything…” James wanted to ask if there was anything that would remind him less of all his stays in hospital facilities, without coming across as ungrateful. It was a lovely little room, but it was also clearly someone _else’s_ space, and he didn’t want whoever this person was put out because of him. “Anything smaller?”

“Smaller? Well, yeah, I guess you’re used to sleeping in a packin’ can, so…” Rocket passed another two doorways as he kept talking. “There’s the little half bunk, back behind the bulkhead, if that’s your thing. It’s not meant to be _occupied_ , though, so it’s tight.”

“I don’t need much space.”

“Alright, then.” Keying open the door, Rocket stepped back to give James a better view. “Home sweet soup-can.”

The quarters were tiny – barely big enough for him to stretch out on the waist-high bunk that served as the room’s only furniture, the ceiling too low by half for James to even think of trying to put his arms up over his head. The wall on his left angled sharply into the space – had it been a house, this room might have been tucked under an attic eave – leaving just enough area for James to stand without hitting his head. The far wall was given over entirely to a viewing window, though, and there was storage space under the raised bunk. James stepped around the little creature at his feet, nodding slowly. “This’ll do alright.” He dropped his rucksack onto the bed, stowing the case with his spare arms and repair kit in one of the drawers beneath it. “Thank you, Rocket.”

“Sure thing.” The raccoon sidled up to James as he unpacked, peering down into his bag, then huffing out a little sigh. “So I’ll, uh… I’ll letcha settle in, but I’ll be back to get your biometrics in the system, so’s you can lock it up if you wanna.”

“I need to lock my door?” He had been under the impression that this was just cargo transport, and there were only three other… _beings_ on the ship with him. James didn’t really have all that much to steal, certainly little of any tangible value, except for maybe the arms and the guns; possibly the instant coffee.

Rocket shook his head as he stepped back into the hall. “Naw; not unless we’re smuggling people. I just thought you might want to be able to have some, uh – ya know – _privacy_ an’ shit. No worries, though. We won’t lift your crap unless we need it.”

“That’s comfortin’ to know.” It really wasn’t.

**☆•☆•☆**

James had finished unloading his weapons, along with the few important things he’d brought from Earth. Most of that consisted of pictures. He had them saved digitally, but he’d always liked the tangibility of real photographs. He’d displayed them across the slanted wall, hung from a tiny clothespin garland, a parting gift from Princess Shuri that he’d strung between two of the pipes crisscrossing his ceiling. It was still a strain to look at them all – especially the few with Natasha and Tony – but James was glad they were up there. He slid his wallet from beneath the edge of his mattress, tugging out the old service photo of Stevie and himself; that one he clipped next to the one they’d taken with Sam when Stevie got back. _Perfect._

Aside from the pictures, the only other thing he really _wanted_ out was his quilt. She might not have been able to give it to him in person, but Stevie said that Peg had made it for him. Judging by the meandering line of the stitches, James could believe that. Margaret Carter was capitol at a good many things, but sewing hadn’t ever one of them; he still had a scar from where she’d tried to stitch him up once in the field. Still, the blue and grey blanket was warm, and James was glad he’d had space to bring it along. He ran his hand gently over the stitched cotton with a sigh. It still smelled like coffee and peppermint and cedar from the chest she’d boxed it up in; the quilt had been waiting in storage nearly as long as he had.

Maudlin moment aside, though, James needed to at least make a pretence of interacting with the other members of the crew, captain included. He also hadn’t had anything to eat besides his pre-departure coffee in almost three months; he needed a meal, and that meant leaving his room. James pressed the panel to open his door and stepped cautiously into the hallway, heading forward.

**☆•☆•☆**

There was nowhere to guarantee he’d be alone except his quarters, but – at least with the hatch closed – Peter could effectively cloister himself in the cockpit. Rocket and Groot had wandered up earlier, the former demanding to know what bug had crawled up his ass this morning, the latter vacillating between sincerely curious and eye-rollingly bored as Peter argued with his furry co-pilot. He couldn’t very well _admit_ what had passed between James and himself – telling Carol had been a mistake, and she wasn’t a member of his crew – so Peter had tried to shrug it off as just wanting someone better than another human on board. He’d gone so far as to point out his own comparative inadequacies, and that had mollified Rocket, at least for the moment. Though, of course, the fuzzy little nuisance had still made a point of playing up Barnes’ abilities, Terran or not.

Peter had begrudgingly agreed, forcing his frustration down until the other two had left. He’d spent the last hour or so scanning signals, alternately looking for a job offer that they could handle and searching for anything that might point him in the direction of the AWOL half of his crew. He was listening to a Nova Corps update when the door opened behind him, but didn’t bother turning around until he heard a low, soft voice – “Hey, Pete?” – and saw the reflection on the windscreen in front of him.

Peter turned in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he looked upwards. “James.”

“I’m glad I found you…” James reached for him, hand settling with practiced familiarity on his shoulder.

“Aww, was it hard?” Peter batted the touch away, swivelling in his chair back to face front. He caught James’ gaze in the cockpit window, but cut his eyes down to the control panel. “It’s not like we haven’t checked in regularly, when we could. Rocket’s got friends back on Earth, so we’re not _that_ tough to track down.”

“No, I know. There was so much to do, though-”

“I’m sure. Just like there’s a lot to do here. So, if you don’t mind…” Peter hoped his tone made clear that _he_ very much would mind if James didn’t leave. _Immediately._ A quick glance at the windscreen showed the other man had taken the hint; James was already backing away, turning toward the still open hatch.

“Alright, but if you need anything-”

“If I can’t handle it on my own.” He could and had, and he would keep on handling it, involving James as little as possible. Peter couldn’t completely ignore him – the ship wasn’t _that_ big, and they’d needed a fourth crew member – but that didn’t mean all too much. Rocket was better at coordinating their assignments these days, so all he needed to do was find the jobs and fly the ship; neither of those tasks needed to involve more than minimal interaction with the man standing behind him. “Maybe Rocket has something you can do.”

“Right…” The hatch closed behind him with a finite clang, and Peter was left alone once more.

**☆•☆•☆ _Three Cycles Later_ ☆•☆•☆**

Food might’ve been missing from the galley, but nobody had come back for a meal since the arrival of their newest crew member. And by nobody, Rocket was only counting Quill and Barnes; Groot didn’t really eat anything besides water and dirt, neither of which had been on the menu for dinner. He’d sighed, throwing the soup in to chill until the next cycle and running his paws over his ears. Fucking touchy Terrans. He’d been hopeful – sure – but he should’ve known better. Something was off between those two. Even after spending five years back and forth to their home planet, though, Rocket was flummoxed as to what the hell it was.

Species thing, maybe? Two males in too close a proximity? But – _naw_ – the group he’d crewed with during their absence had had lotsa guys, and they’d all gotten on more or less alright. They’d at least _spoken_ to each other. ‘Course, Natasha had still been around back then. Come to think of it, Peter and Bucket had been more civil when Carol was still on the ship. And Peter was better behaved back when Gamora was on board to bust his ass and hand it to him; maybe Terrans needed a female to keep ‘em in line.

 _Shit._ Weren’t too many o’ those out here willing to crew with _them_ – Terran or not – and Danvers only dropped by infrequently. Those two were likely to kill each other in the meantime. Which meant Rocket would have to be the one to step in and make sure that didn’t happen. _Fuck._ How had _he_ become the only adult on this damn ship?! Oh, right; Odinson was gone, Groot was still thinkin’ like a twig, Peter was inexplicably back to being a two-metre man-child, and Bucket hadn’t ever even been off planet before Danvers popped him outta that can like a frozen dinner.

Rocket had sighed up at the ceiling and dragged himself back to the bay to work on a few more explosive charges for their next job. He and Groot had been sitting back to back, trading tools and quiet conversation for a while as he tried to puzzle through a way to diffuse a more social sort of bomb.

Behind him, Groot spoke softly. “ _I_ am Groot?”

“Yeah, he was gone like you and Peter were.” General Stabby-Spear might not have been too in his face about Bucket disappearing, but Captain Meaty-Mope had been all to pieces over it at the start of things. The guy had cornered him about it while Rocket was still processing that Groot was gone.

“So, what was it like in there? I mean, were you guys together, or…” It wasn’t something Groot had spoken about often – not that the treenager spoke too much to begin with – but Mantis and Drax had avoided that topic of conversation, too. Rocket had a strange inkling that maybe _that_ had been the cause of things, but he didn’t know how. It wasn’t like _everybody_ that had been dusted had become some massive asshole.

“I am Groot.” 

“Oh? I… I’m so sorry, buddy. I mean, I know you like kids, but that’s a long time to look after someone.” Four minutes alone with a kid would’ve been enough to drive _him_ crazy, let alone four _hours_.

“I… Am Groot.” Groot shrugged behind him, reaching a vine around to take one of the charge components he’d just assembled. “I am Groot. I am GrOot?”

“I’m thinking that’s _exactly_ it, buddy.” He might be at that age where he was still acting like a little shit, but Groot wasn’t stupid, and Rocket had to agree. They hadn’t ever met while they were back on Earth, so Peter and Bucket must have run into each other during the time they were dusted. And – yeah – maybe four hours wasn’t that long, but Peter could go from pleasant to fuckin’ insufferable in just a coupla seconds, so… “Quill’s bein’ more of an asshat than usual, and Danvers didn’t even stop to shoot the shit. Which, I ain’t sayin’ she’s the greatest for normal conversation, but we got along alright durin’ that whole everybody poofed business, right?”

“I am _Groot.”_

“I thought, what with the anniversary and all, we mighta talked… I just hope she passed that along, ya know?” His admiration for Carol Danvers wasn’t any sort of secret, so Rocket didn’t mind the teasing too much. Carol was great for shooting the shit or having his back, but she hadn’t been the one holding their rag-tag operation together all those years. Rocket hated to have missed the memorial, but Carol had promised to carry his words when she went back to Earth. “That redhead was somethin’ else.”

“I AM GRoo~oot.” The treenager batted at his ear with a vine, snorting a raspy snicker.

“No, I did not. I’m crazy, but I ain’t stupid.” In his opinion, she’d been outta everybody’s league – not just his – and the whole damn universe owed it to her to remember that. “We were all handlin’ our own mess, but she was good at what she did, and I just… Miss her on the other end o’ the comm, I guess?”

“I… I am Groot?”

Rocket sighed and dropped the wires from his paws. He stood, stepping around Groot’s shoulder and into his lap to give the kid a hug. “Yes, of course I missed you, too, but you ain’t dead.”

“I am. Groot.” Splintery arms wrapped around him and squeezed as Groot mumbled back to him.

“Yeah, she would know what to do.” Red always had. Nodding, he pushed away from Groot’s wooden embrace, shaking out his fur. “C’mon. We’ve got enough here, and I still gotta scan the new guy into the system.” He turned to head out of their workspace and back to the personnel wing. Hopefully, Barnes hadn’t tucked himself up anywhere except his own room.

**☆•☆•☆**

Three days. That had been just about how long he and Pete had been together that first time before shit had started going to hell. They’d gotten a jump-start on that this trip, and James was still walking around and holding his breath, wary of bumping into the man after the frigid reception he’d gotten on that first day. But avoiding one person had meant avoiding _everybody;_ he might not mind the solitude, but James still got _lonely,_ just like anyone else would after spending three days forcibly secluded. Being light-years away from the only home he’d ever known, while getting the brush off from someone he- he _cared about,_ wasn’t doing anything to lessen his feelings of very literal alienation. In whole or in part, everyone on this ship _was_ an alien – at least to him – but James would be willing to take a gamble on the gangly teenaged ent if it was offering conversation.

The knock on his door made him tense, though; it could be an answer to his prayers, but just as easily a harbinger of something even worse. James stayed where he sat on his bunk, still looking out the window as he spoke. “It’s open.”

“‘Course it is; ya can’t lock it ‘til you’re coded into the ship’s database.” Rocket stepping into his quarters – and taking the time to close the door behind him – was a relief. The little raccoon scrambled up onto the raised bed beside him, hauling up something that looked like a hospital thermometer and a stud finder had fucked in a needle pile. “Gimme yer hand.”

It was just him being a shit, but James offered the left one first.

“C’mon, Bucket. Sooner we get this over with, sooner you can kick me out an’ lock the door.” Rocket sighed.

He acquiesced, taking off his glove and offering his remaining original hand. “It’s James.”

“Oh?” His ears flicked atop his head, and James felt a sharp prick and a warm tingle on his palm as Rocket pressed the device against it. “I only remember Cap’n Blondie calling you that first one.”

“That was _Bucky,_ but, no, it’s James.” He’d let Steve get away with calling him _Bucky_ because he _was_ Steve. He’d let Barton and Wilson do it because they were both as miserable and confused as he was. He’d let Natalia get away with it because she’d _known_ him. James hadn’t felt like _Bucky_ since he was still living in a squat with a mattress under the window. He sure as hell couldn’t think of any compelling reason to put up with that name coming from the furry little trash-panda in overalls standing beside him. “And well… Steve did a lot of stupid things. We have that in common.”

“I hear ya.” Rocket nodded and tucked the scanner back into the front pocket of his overalls. Instead of leaving, however, he sat at James’ side, casually swinging his tiny paws off the edge of the bunk as he spoke. “Speaking of stupid, though – and I gotta say that I ain’t, so I know somethin’s up with you two – but you oughtta know Quill’s an idiot, alright?”

Idiot. Asshole. Clearly a waste of James’ time, though that hadn’t stopped him sticking around to this point. “I’d… _noticed.”_

“No, I mean a real moron.” The tiny pilot tugged at his sleeve, furry face nodding emphatically as he gesticulated. “As in sometimes I’m shocked he can breathe and walk at the same time. As in I only believe in _miracles_ because he’s kinda too _stupid_ to function otherwise.”

James wasn’t going to disagree with any of that at this point, but – even if their captain was making an effort to be as standoffish as possible – he also wasn’t all that keen talking about Pete behind his back. “Is there a point to this, Rocket? I was…” James nodded back out to the endless starry view beyond his window. “Enjoying the quiet.”

“My point, _James_ , is that Quill ain’t all that great at not fucking up.” Rocket sighed and scooted closer, until he was leaning in against James’ prosthetic arm. “So you’re just gonna hafta get used to it, if you’re gonna be stickin’ around here.”

“You _assume_ I’m staying.” He turned fully away from the window, looking down at his tiny crew-mate. James had to tilt his head at such a steep angle that most of his hair fell into his face. He snapped a tie off his wrist, pulling back the top half of his hair with an exasperated huff. “Did I give that impression?

“I _said_ ‘if,’ newbie; _‘if.’”_ Rocket stood up, face now even with James’s own. “I mean, I tend to think _‘when’_ , but I said _‘if.’”_

“We’ll see.”

“Sure we will.” A tiny paw patted against his metal shoulder. The raccoon’s attempts at congeniality in the face of James’ glaring were admirable. Or a sign that – just like seemingly _everyone_ else who ever left the planet – Rocket was also going to turn out to be a pain in the ass. “So level with me on this. Y’alright, Bucket?”

“Fine.” He wasn’t, not really, but he was above ground _and_ in full control of his faculties; that was well enough for him. All things considered, the worst part of today was that Rocket insisted on calling him something stupid. “And it _was_ _Bucky.”_

“Yeah…” The tiny gruff voice that answered him was oddly dejected. Rocket hung his head, paw kicking lightly at the bedding on which he stood as he looked away. “Yeah, I know, I just… You were kinda my first Earth buddy, and I just thought we could make it sorta our thing, ya know?”

 _Buddy_ wasn’t the word James would have chosen for someone who he’d hoisted off the ground as a backup weapon, but he didn’t have much of a basis for judgement when it came to alien animal friendships. “Thing?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, we got a lot in common, right.” Rocket hooked his tiny, fuzzy thumbs in the straps of his overalls, still pawing the bed linens. “See, I have dark spots around my eyes, and you have dark spots around your eyes. I like ta shoot big guns, and you like ta shoot big guns. I’m Rock-et, and you’re – ya know – Buck-et?” He shrugged, left paw lifting to scratch behind his ear in a manner eerily reminiscent of more than one person James had known back on Earth. “Jus’ thought it could be our thing, I guess? If ya really don’ wanna, I can just call ya _James_ , though…”

Why was he agreeing to this? James looked down at the sheepishly swaying trashimal and sighed. He was doing it because he needed at least one person on this ship he could talk to; because one more nickname was a small price to pay for a shot at something approaching a friend. “It’s alright, Rocket, if it’s only me an’ you.”

“Yeah? Good deal.” Tiny ears pricking, the raccoon nodded happily, sitting back down at his side. “So, now that we got that straightened out, why doncha answer me for reals this time, huh? Y’alright, Bucket?”

“Been better.” From his perspective, James had been right as rain less than a week ago. Now he was stuck out in space, sleeping in a closet, and with the only person who would talk to him effectively calling him _‘Pail.’_ Still… “Been worse, too, though.”

**☆•☆•☆**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **☆•☆•☆**
> 
> If you’ve read any of my other long(ish) stories, you might have noticed – dear reader – that I don’t usually title chapters in a multi-chapter work without a specific reason. In the case of this story, each chapter title is taken from a spotify playlist I’ve been drafting since May to go with this particular story. (What would a story including Star-Lord be _without_ a catchy soundtrack, after all?) If folks are interested, I might trying to not fail at spotify and share the entire thing, but only once the story is finished. (The songs _do_ tend to have something to do with the chapter events, and I don’t want to spoil anything.)
> 
> Still, I feel like I should at least comment on the titles as they go up. Songs and links are listed below for the first three chapters.
> 
> Also, yes, _Turn Me Loose_ is the **most** Peter Quill appropriate song on the planet, and it probably _shouldn’t_ have been the title for a James-centric chapter, but that’s already done, so… Yup! If you have time for only one ridiculous music video today – heck, if you only have time for one this month – please, dear reader, watch _**that one.**_ (Just… yeah, I won’t spoil it for you.)
> 
> Chapter 1: **Turn Me Loose,** [_Turn Me Loose_ by Loverboy (1980)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnHm4ro_l8s)
> 
> Chapter 2: **I’m Already Gone, __**[_Already Gone_ by the Eagles (1974)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoduRTF9J-o)
> 
> Chapter 3: **Don’t Carry Me, __**[_Jet Airliner_ by Steve Miller Band (1977)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDiQGQb4-Ew)
> 
> **☆•☆•☆**


End file.
